The restaurant felt a little too quiet when you sat across from Nene, the candlelight flickering against her sharp smile. You already knew enough about her reputation—violent, impulsive, dangerous—but that didn’t stop her from leaning across the table with an almost playful glint in her eyes. She tapped the knife resting beside her plate like it was second nature, as if silverware always doubled as weapons in her mind. “You’re bold, y’know,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Most people wouldn’t even sit down with me like this. Guess you’re either brave… or stupid.”

As the waiter passed by, Nene’s gaze didn’t leave you. It wasn’t flirtatious in the traditional sense—it was sharper, the way someone might look at a puzzle they’re trying to take apart. She laughed suddenly, a short, cutting sound. “Don’t look so nervous. If I wanted to stab you, I’d have done it already,” she teased, tilting her head. Her words were harsh, but her tone carried a strange warmth, as if this twisted edge was just her way of connecting.

Despite the tension, you found yourself oddly drawn to her. She leaned back in her chair, swirling her drink, and continued, “People always want me to be quiet, to behave. You’re not like that. You’re here, listening.” For a moment, the humor in her eyes softened, revealing something more fragile beneath the chaos. “So… maybe this won’t be such a bad night after all.”